I
love the title from the authors Keith Devlin and Randy Weiner. After 20-plus years of working in classrooms
worldwide, I still am no further towards discovering a “right” way, either for
myself or my learners. For me
educational practice is a continual process of trial and error – more error
than trial, to be honest.

Both the authors work in the
edtech industry, and they describe the creation of what they term an “adaptive
engine,” to supply players of their launch product, Wuzzit Trouble, with
challenges adjusted to individual ability levels. Based on research conducted by mathematics
professionals, they created something that was designed to make education not a
process of rote-learning, but an “experience,” one that takes a real-world
mathematics problem and invites users to solve it. Learners have to acquire two abilities as a
result – they have to develop problem-solving knowledges, as well as acquiring
mathematical thinking .

More importantly the engine
encourages what the authors term adaptive thinking, rendering learners in full
control of how to move forward and what degree of success they should
accept. Through such means they develop
the 21st century skills of holistic thinking and problem solving.

A well-designed technology
should not only help learners to explore problems but provide information on
how their hypotheses varied from their actual experience and how they might
revise their strategy accordingly.
Mathematics should be something learned through practical experience;
through a method that breaks through what they term the “symbol barrier,” and
provides instead a range of tools that individual learners can adapt for
themselves to plot their own course of study.

I do not know enough about
the edtech industry to make any comment on the efficacy of the materials
discussed. Mathematics was never my
strongest subject at school; I could never get used to algebra, and
differentiation and integration largely remained a closed book.

But what I would ask is
this: although I am in favor of any edtech scheme that advances the cause of
adaptive learning, surely we need people
to ensure its successful operation? Not
just technicians and/or experts to enhance learner experience of that material,
but coaches and other educators to provide support and counsel whenever
necessary? Learners can discover
solutions for themselves, I grant you; but they do need to talk to someone to
sustain their morale as well as offering pointers for future mathematical (or
any educational) research.

Online communication offers
a valuable tool – I use it frequently myself through various forms of email and
social media – but I still believe that there is a place for human interaction
that stand-alone technology cannot provide.
Adaptive learning is not just subject-related; it requires learners to
understand something about the world around them; how people react to different
situations, both verbally as well as nonverbally. Sometimes I find that the best “classes” – if
they can be described as such – take place in cafés or restaurants, where
educators and learners alike learn how to observe one another’s body language
as well as the nuances of stress and tone in their spoken language. We also learn to look at others, and try to
infer from their body-language what they might be thinking. Such processes are the bread and butter of
all creative writers.

Our learners might not be
creative writers in embryo (they might enter totally different professions),
but it is essential that they learn something about the worlds they inhabit, so
that they can refine their adaptive processes.
Maybe I’m old-fashioned, a product of a pre-edtech era when we did a lot
of our classes sitting outside on the grass; but over the last few years or so
I have come to realize the importance of looking and listening to people as the
basis of all forms of learning. We might
not find any answers to our questions, but it’s worthwhile hypothesizing.

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

I
was alerted to a recent blog-post by the educationalist Larry Cuban in which he
claims that the literature on the use of computers in schools is “bipolar.” At one extreme are the success-stories of
those who managed to involve disengaged children in new learning experiences;
at the other are those who find technology disappointing, a means to disrupt
than reinforce the benefits of learning.
Cuban claims that this distinction frequently leads to “a grossly
inaccurate picture of computer use and its effects in US schools”; or a
rehearsal of long-established ideological struggles between different factions
of the progressive education movement that date back over a hundred years (https://larrycuban.wordpress.com/2016/07/01/the-bipolar-literature-on-technology-in-u-s-schools/).

There
are two observations that can be made on this.
I think that Cuban’s observation is in itself over-simplistic; like all
educational questions, there are intellectual and methodological shades of gray
that require elaboration. We need to
know what technology has been used for, in what subject, for what kind of
learners, and why; and we also need to bear in mind questions of geography and
demography, both of which play a significant part in the educational
experience. More importantly, we should
realize that technology per se does
not actually improve educational standards; we need to know far more about how
educators and learners adapt themselves to new methods, which has far more to
do with negotiation and collaboration rather than technological aptitude.

Secondly,
I would object to the term “bipolar” as a means to describe an opposition more
aptly termed “binary.” Cuban claims in a
reply to his blog-post that “bipolar” is a metaphor, with strengths and
weaknesses that become visible if that metaphor “is pushed too far.” This is an unfortunate use of language to
describe a mental condition that involves a brain disorder causing unusual
shifts in mood, energy, activity levels, and the ability to carry out day-to-day
tasks. Put more simply, “bipolar
disorder” refers to someone whose mind has extended “too far” in the depressive
direction.

Cuban’s
choice of term denotes a basic misunderstanding of how the individual
consciousness is shaped and reshaped through education – not the kind of
education provided by “technology” (used here in the abstract sense), but an
education produced through a series of learning experiences, both individual
and collective.

I
was reminded of how that process works, as I recently watched a twenty-two-year
old disaster movie, Alive
(1993). The film tells the story of how
a plane carrying the Uruguyan rugby union team (as well as other passengers)
crashed in the Andes mountains, killing the crew as well as a few
passengers. Initially the survivors
believe that they will be rescued fairly soon, but eventually learn that the
search has been called off, leaving them to fend for themselves.

Confronted
for the first time with life-or-death experiences, at least two of the rugby
team react in a fashion characteristic of temporary bipolar disorder; their
moods shift, they lack the energy to do anything and want to be left to die in
the snow. Yet the film shows how most of
the boys learn – through painful experience – what teamwork actually entails,
both on and off the sports field. They
have to deal with adverse as well as favorable situations, while realizing that
any solutions to their predicament have a limited chance of success. They endure pain and suffering, which can be
dealt with through mutual support as well as by praying to God. Sometimes fate works in their favor; at other
times it can destroy them; the rough needs to be endured as well as the smooth so
as to move forward. To deal with
bipolarism, however temporary, it is necessary to find a balance between
acceptance and action, while understanding that their teammates are undergoing
similar traumas.

Cynics
might dismiss such notions as banal – the kind of things you might find in any
Hollywood (or British) movie set in the frozen wastes (remember Charles Frend’s
Scott of the Antarctic (1948)),
emphasizing the virtues of keeping the proverbial stiff upper lip in the face
of adversity. Yet they still have an
important function in any educational exchange for educators and learners alike
– far more significant than that of “technology.” We can only learn how to learn through
teamwork, a notion that requires us to accept the good with the bad. There will be occasions when we feel like
giving up (as I experienced with one class in the previous semester), but we
have to persevere, in the – sometimes quixotic – belief that we are achieving
our goals, whether individual or personal.
Sometimes we might experience depressive symptoms – as I have over the
last two years or so in the wake of my medical history – but they can only be
dealt with by trying to talk about them, not just to professionals, but to our
learners, or our peers as well. That
process is not easy, especially for introverts who hitherto have kept themselves
to themselves, and might be a long one.
But if we trust our team, each step, however small, can be perceived
positively.

I
have to admit to being slightly hurt by Cuban’s post, as it suggests that he does
not really understand the true implications of bipolarism. Yet I am loth to criticize him; rather I
should be grateful to him for prompting me to reflect on my own educational
philosophy, which has been shaped by the experience of depression. I also thank him for making me understand the
importance of learning as a 24/7 process, not dependent on technology, but
something that can be appreciated even through the experience of watching old
Hollywood movies.